Recovering
by KatieH42
Summary: Tim was nearly beaten to death by Damian the first time they met, Bruce has to deal with a crisis overseas and Alfred has to take care of his family as best be can.
1. Chapter 1

**So yeah, I started this at the suggestion of a wonderful, much smarter person. It doesn't have a direction yet so suggestions would be good, but I'm sure it'll get one. Eventually. **

"What shall I tell him when he wakes up?" Alfred asked as he watched the Batman cradling Tim's head until the last possible moment before nestling it into a pillow. "He'll want to know where you are and what became of your son."

"I know," Bruce said, looking back over his shoulder at the boy who was lurking in the shadows. "Tell him, tell him I'll be back as soon as I can and we'll talk. Tell him I'm sorry I can't be here."

"Of course," Alfred agreed. "You'd best get going then. He'll be all right."

And then with a snap of his cape, Bruce was gone, leaving Alfred alone with the boy. He watched Tim for a few minutes, waiting for any sign of distress or discomfort. Then he took off his robes, threw them away and washed the blood off his hands.

It was a familiar sight by now, his hands in the sink, the red swirling around them. It was never his blood that he was cleaning away. It was always blood from someone he loved and that felt much worse. With Bruce gone, it was up to Alfred to take the boy upstairs but he thought it best he wait a few minutes, give the boy a few moments before subjecting him to more trauma.

There was lots of tidying to do, and it took much longer than it should have, since every few minutes he put down whatever he was doing to check on Tim. He had lost a great deal of blood, he'd understated it to Bruce. If he thought a genuine evaluation of Tim's condition would have kept Bruce at home he would have given it, but since he was sure the Batman was needed one way or the other, he'd kept most of the grim details back.

Still, once he'd run out of things to clean and put away he decided it was time to move Tim upstairs. Very, very carefully he removed the IV and the blood transfusion he'd been on. Alfred was nowhere near as strong as Bruce but Tim was still so young, it wasn't even that difficult to lift him up and carry him up two flights of stairs to his bedroom.

Once the boy was settled in his bed and tucked under his sheets Alfred had to go back down to the Cave for the supplies he would need over night – another IV, antibiotics, painkillers, another blood bag.

He returned to Tim's bedside and checked the boy again. It wasn't long enough to see if he was taking the fluids but his temperature hadn't risen and he was resting still. Alfred checked his pulse carefully too, but then his hand strayed up to the boy's face. He looked so young, and tired, even through the swelling and bruising. "Oh Master Tim," he said quietly.

The boy murmured something. "Don't wake up," Alfred whispered at him. "Don't wake up until the morning. Save yourself the suffering and stay asleep tonight my boy."

Alfred only left him long enough to make a pot of tea and move a comfortable arm chair to the bedside.

Late morning sun falling on his face woke him up slowly. He opened his eyes and looked down at Tim. To his surprise the boy was looking at him sleepily. "Alfie," he mumbled quietly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he said, with a faint laugh. "I'm fine. How are you feeling?"

"Not so good," Tim admitted. "What happened? Where's Bruce?"

"What hurts the most?" Alfred said. "Shall I run through the concussion questions with you?"

"Tim Drake, probably about eleven in the morning, in my room, Alfred, Grayson, Todd, Drake," Tim said with a thin smile. "But my head really hurts."

"Not surprising I'm afraid," Alfred agreed. "I'll give you something for that. What else hurts?"

"My ribs, my arm, my stomach doesn't feel too great either," Tim listed. "Also I think I broke some toes."

"You did," Alfred agreed affectionately. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Bruce's son sucker punched me," Tim said slowly. "Where is he? He got you too. Are you okay? Where's Bruce?"

"It's a rather complicated story I'm afraid," Alfred said as he injected another dose of morphine into the IV drip. "But I suppose I can give you the footnotes if it would help you rest easier."

"Please."

"It seems Talia is still up to some mischief, so Master Bruce has gone to stop her, and taken the boy with him."

"What?" Tim demanded, sitting up, groaning and curling up around his broken arm and stomach.

"Master Timothy," Alfred said firmly, standing up and catching the boy's head. He whimpered very quietly as Alfred half helped, half forced him back down to his pillow. "Really, you must rest."

"Alfie," he begged miserably.

"I know," Alfred agreed, stroking the boy's hair affectionately. "It's not an ideal situation by any means but you will not make it better by making yourself worse. Just rest for now."

"Who's going to patrol?" Tim whispered as his eyelids started to flicker a little.

"For the moment, no one," Alfred said. "You're in no condition to worry about it."

"Should call Dick," Tim mumbled.

"If you would rest easier with him here, I will call him," Alfred agreed. "Otherwise, I will leave Gotham to fend for itself for a night or two. If there anything you need that I can get you?" Alfred asked.

"Bruce home safe?" Tim suggested. Alfred smile sadly. "Water would be okay."

"Of course," Alfred agreed. "Here." He had seen this coming and had brought in a glass of water earlier. He helped Tim sit up enough to have a few sips but by then it was obvious that the boy could barely keep his eyes open and by the time Alfred had settled him back in the bed and pulled the covers back up over his chest Tim was asleep again.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm very sorry 1) that it took me so long to write this 2) that it wasn't as good as I'd hoped it would be. **

**But I'm pretty sure staring at it for another few days isn't going to help at this point. **

With Tim in bed and Bruce gone, there wasn't much for Alfred to do. Of course, the normal household chores needed doing, but he wasn't ready to leave the boy alone for any length of time, so cleaning the rest of the house was quite impossible. To pass the time Alfred mostly read while Tim slept. He was almost three quarters of the way through a medical textbook when Tim started to cough, very violently.

Alfred snapped the book shut and kind of jumped to the boy's side. Bruce would have been faster, Bruce would have been strong enough to hold Tim still as he convulsed, hacking and shuttering. "Shh, shh," Alfred soothed, rubbing his hand up and down the boy's spine, trying desperately hard to make it stop, although there was no power in him that could.

At last Tim managed to get his breath back he fell through Alfred's arms and into the pillow behind them. There were tears on his checks. "Alfred it hurts," he begged.

"I know dear boy, I know," Alfred answered, sweeping Tim's hair back and dabbing at his tears. "I'll give you more morphine in a moment. Just rest for a minute."

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Tim's chest. Then he saw it. There was blood on the sheets. Quickly he threw them back and pulled the blanket up higher to cover those horrible red spots. Normally Tim was too quick for Alfred's little slights of hand to be successful but he was laying on his back with his eyes shut as he panted desperately, every once in a while moaning quietly.

"Why does hurt so much Alfred?' Tim whimpered.

"He did a lot of damage to your organs I'm afraid," Alfred said. "How do you feel?"

"Bad."

"I know dear boy," Alfred said. "But I was actually hoping for something a little more specific. What hurts the most?"

"My stomach, I think," Tim mumbled. "Or my ribs. Something inside. Can't really tell Alfred I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Alfred soothed. "Just rest for a minute. Tell me if it gets better. Or worse." Tim nodded, his jaw was very tight. "I'll only be gone a minute."

"Okay," Tim managed between a grunt and swallow.

Alfred was very reluctant to leave the boy, but he needed more medical equipment and he even more so, a phone. There was something wrong, something he had missed and if he did not find it quickly the boy would die. He could not remember the last time he ran through the Manor, but he ran that time, all the way down to the Batcave. He was breathless, but he used the time he needed to gather tools to get it back, then hurried up the stairs.

"How are you doing?" he asked Tim before he was even in the room properly.

"Better than before," Tim croaked. "Thirsty."

"Of course," Alfred agreed quickly, grabbing the glass of water and helping Tim up enough to take a few sips. He coughed a little when he was done, but nothing like before. His colour was better too, but his temperature was up. Alfred slowly set down the phone. Perhaps it wasn't time for help yet. Perhaps he was just being paranoid. After all, he did spend a lot of time with Bruce Wayne. "Better?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tim answered softly. "Thanks."

"You never need to thank me for this Master Timothy," Alfred said lightly, half hoping to convince some kind of happy expression to cross the boy's face.

"I know." He sighed tentatively, like he was expecting it to hurt him. Alfred sat back down next to the bed.

"Time?" Tim asked.

"About five in the afternoon," Alfred said. "You slept for a long time." Tim nodded his head a few inches.

"Bruce?"

"I haven't heart from him." He was very gentle with the words, like he was afraid that they would physically hurt Tim. "But I'm sure he's all right. This isn't unusual for him."

"What's wrong with me?"

"Unfortunately that," Alfred paused as he searched for the word to describe the boy, "child," he said hesitantly, "broke your arm, several of your fingers and toes, gave you a rather significant concussion, cracked a few ribs and caused some internal bleeding. In fact, if you don't mind, I'd like to check now, just to make sure that everything's as it should be." Tim nodded his permission and Alfred pulled back the blankets, doing his best to conceal the blood. He tossed them on the floor roughly, almost like he expected those damn spots to bite him.

His hands were warm as he slowly felt around the boy's torso, comparing his bruising with what it had been earlier. Alfred didn't see any signs of more damage but of course if identifying internal bleeding was that easy, no one would die from it.

"Alfred?" Tim whispered to him.

"Yes Timothy?" Alfred answered, pulling his hands off of the boy and looking over at his face.

"It hurts so much. When will Bruce be back?"

"As soon as he can be, I promise," Alfred said. "I'm going to give you something to help you sleep again all right?"

"Will you stay?" Nothing hurt Alfred's chest like seeing one of them beg and for a moment he was angry at Bruce. Of course the Prime Minister's wife didn't deserve to be Talia's plaything, of course the whole situation had to be stopped but this was Timothy Drake, Bruce's son, who was frightened and hurting now. But he would not be alone.

"Of course."


	3. Chapter 3

The buzzing of the phone on the dresser woke Alfred up in the morning when it sent his heart racing against his rubs. He took a few deep breathes while he checked on Tim. He had been restless a few points in the night and Alfred could see sweat on his unnaturally pale face. Alfred stayed awake to monitor the boy as long as he could but when he'd finally dozed off Tim seemed relatively peaceful.

Alfred was not sure this stillness was an improvement.

A quick glare told him who was calling - the phone recognized the number as Dick's. A quick glance at the clock told him was only six in the morning and suddenly his heart stopped beating fast. It almost stopped beating entirely. If something had happened to both of them in one day, Alfred was absolutely not sure he would survive until Bruce got back

"Master Richard?"

"Hey Alfie," Dick answered cheerfully. "Are you okay? You sound ... weird."

"I'm fine, thank you," Alfred said. "And yourself?"

"I'm all right," he answered. "Looking for Bruce actually, I could use a hand with some gun runners that kept ending up in Gotham but I couldn't get him. Is he okay?"

"Yes," Alfred responded, letting relief melt into his voice a little. "Just overseas at the moment."

"Oh," Dick said. "Imminent crisis, looming bad guys, end of the world, that kind of thing?"

"Something like that," Alfred agreed.

"What about Tim? Is he around? Can I borrow him tomorrow night?"

"Master Timothy is indisposed at the moment," Alfred said carefully. He moved closer to the bed, touched the boy's face. This wasn't right, his colour should be improving, but he was a terrible chalky grey. His pulse was still strong but he wasn't getting better.

"What does that mean?" Dick demanded. "Is he all right?"

"I," Alfred said. He had lied to Bruce so easily when it was what Bruce needed to hear it, but at that moment, he wasn't sure he could do it again. "I'm not sure."

"Well, is he going to be okay?" Dick asked. "What happened?"

"It's rather complicated," Alfred said.

"What is?" Dick demanded. "I'm coming to the Manor. I'll be there in a hour."

"Master Richard, that is unnecessary," Alfred said quickly. "Really, another person hanging about fretting will hardly help him."

"But he's going to be okay right?"

"I believe so," Alfred said. "I must call Doctor Thompkins."

"What happened to him Alfred?" Dick repeated.

"I'd rather not be the one to tell you that Richard," Alfred said uncomfortably. "It should be Master Bruce who explains."

"Fine," Dick agreed, although he sounded angry about it. "But I'm still coming."

"Wait," Alfred insisted. "You've been up all night I assume?" He took Dick's silence for conformation. "Then go, get a few hours sleep and I will call you this afternoon and let you know how he's doing."

"Are you sure?" Dick asked. "I can come to the Manor and sleep there if it'll help at all."

"No, go home for now. We'll talk in a few hours when I have something to tell you."

"Can I talk to him?"

"No, he's asleep," Alfred said. "And I don't want to wake him." He felt a warm hand on his arm and looked down. Tim was looking up at him with a glazed expression in his eyes.

"Dick?" he mumbled.

"Yes it is," Alfred agreed, putting his palm against Tim's forehead. He was burning up. Maybe it was an infection, maybe he wasn't bleeding internally at all. Neither option was good. Alfred felt his stomach skitter inside him.

"Talk?" Tim asked.

"He wants to talk to you," Alfred informed Dick.

"Of course," Dick agreed. Alfred lowered the phone down to Tim's ear and sank down onto the bed next to the boy. "Hey Timmy," Dick said affectionately. "Alfred tells me you're not feeling greatest today."

"Not so much," Tim croaked. "You?"

"Me? I'm fantastic. Totally took out a dozen human traffickers a few hours ago. It was great. They had all their guns going but they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with them. I thought about you too – you'd have had a great time."

"Sorry I missed it."

"Don't worry about it," Dick said lightly. "I can find us a few more in a couple of days when you're back on your feet all right?"

"Sounds good," Tim agreed.

"Awesome," Dick continued. "So'd you at least get the guy who did this to you?"

"No."

"Really?" Dick asked. "Well, no stress. I'll get him for you little brother okay?" Tim started to chuckle, and then to cough hard. Alfred dropped the phone to put his arms around Tim. Dick waited patiently while Alfred rubbed the boy's shoulders and Tim desperately tried to get his breath back. "I'm going to come see you later," Dick promised. "Just as soon as I get some sleep. I promise."

"See you," Tim wheezed.

Alfred took the phone back as he covered Tim up carefully. "Alfie," Dick said nervously. "He doesn't sound very good."

"I know," Alfred said with a heavy sigh. "But there's nothing you can do for him now. I need to call Dr. Thompkins. I will call you back this afternoon."

"Take care of him Alfred," Dick pleaded quietly.

"You know I will," Alfred promised.


	4. Chapter 4

**I am incredibly sorry that this took me so long to write and also that it's just kind of a middle chapter, not one that's really worth waiting for in and of itself. But hopefully I'll be able to write a little more over the weekend and it'll be... you know... more fun or exciting or squee worthy. Kay. Have a fantastic day! **

Leslie Thompkins did not answer her phone when Alfred called her a few minutes later. "Hello Dr. Thompkins," he said, trying to keep how nervous he was from leaking into his voice. "Alfred Pennyworth. I have a rather serious problem and I suspect it is well beyond my skills. If you could call me back as soon as possible that would be, well I would be incredibly grateful."

And then there was nothing more for him to do.

Alfred had never been very good with nothing to do. On the nights when Bruce was missing or hurt the Batvace was always the cleanest because Alfred could not stand the waiting. He did clean Tim's room quite thoroughly, waiting for the phone to ring but Tim was a tidy person, by far the tidiest Robin that Alfred had ever cleaned up after, and it didn't take nearly long enough.

Tim woke up a few hours after Alfred called Leslie. His back was turned at the time, but the moment he heard Tim's voice mumble weakly, "Alfie?" he turned around.

"Right here," Alfred said, closing the distance between them in a few seconds. "How are you feeling?"

"Alfred," he whimpered. "Where's Bruce? I don't want him to be as broken when I die as he was with Jason."

"You're not going to die," Alfred said firmly.

"I think I am," Tim moaned. "Beaten to death by my crazy, evil little brother." He started to cough and cry or maybe cry and cough and Alfred gave up his stiff upper lip, he gave up everything. He knew he shouldn't be moving the boy, he knew that it would hurt Tim but he had to. He lifted Tim up against his chest and held him there. "Don't let him be alone because of me. Please."

"You won't die," Alfred insisted. "You'll be all right."

"Please don't let him," Tim begged, curling up against Alfred's arms, rubbing tears and blood into Alfred's sleeves. "Make Dick stay, help him find another Robin. Please."

"Timothy, you're going to be fine," Alfred whispered into Tim's dark hair, now damp from Alfred's tears. "We'll hear from Dr. Thompkins soon and together we will patch you up as good as new. We'll meet Bruce when he gets back and work out what to do with that boy together, all three of us."

"Thanks Alfred," Tim whispered.

The phone rang and nearly stopped Alfred's heart for the second time since he woke up. He snatched it up without checking the caller id. "Hello?" he said a little frantically.

"Alfred?" Leslie asked. "What's happened?"

"Dr. Thompkins," he said gratefully, gently shifting Tim out of his lap and back into his pillows. He hated the idea of the boy being alone but he didn't want the child to overhear what he was about to say either."It's Master Tim," he said in a love voice as he left the bedroom. "Something's terribly wrong with him. He was almost beaten to death. I thought I'd found everything but his temperature is rising and rising, I can't seem to get it under control, his pulse is slowing and he's in a great deal of pain."

"I'll be right over," she said. "Is he on the operating table?"

"No," Alfred said. "He's in his room."

"If he's got internal bleeding, moving him would be dangerous," she said worriedly.

"I'll call Master Richard," Alfred said quickly. "The two of us can get him down there safely."

"All right," she agreed. "Hurry up though. It sounds serious, we may not have a lot of time."

"Of course," he answered.

He rang Dick as soon as he hung up with Leslie. The phone rang for almost a dozen rings and Alfred began to regret his earlier instruction to Dick about getting some rest, but when Dick answered he sounded very awake. "Alfred talk to me," he said.

"We need you here as soon as possible."

"Tim?" Dick was practically begging.

"We don't know yet," Alfred said. "But we must move him and I'm not sure I can do it by myself without..."

"I'm coming," Dick interrupted. "I'll be there in fifty minutes."

"Do hurry Master Richard," Alfred stressed. "But don't do anything reckless. You'll be no good to him at all if you're hurt too."

"You know me," Dick said, confidence leaking into his voice, the way his smile tended to. "I'm always careful."

Alfred was reasonably convinced that there was absolutely no way on earth Dick had been careful at all when he arrived in exactly fifty two minutes. The drive should have taken well over an hour but Alfred refused to think about it. He knew it would only give him heart failure and that wouldn't help anyone at all.

Dick meet Leslie on the stairs up into the Manor. He tried to greet her with his usual wide grin, but it came off forced. She smiled back, equally shallow and twisted. "Go and get him," she ordered. "I'm going downstairs to prep the table."

"Okay," he agreed, pushing through the door and bounding towards the stairs

"And be careful with him!" she shouted after Dick.

Alfred was waiting by Tim's head when Dick came in. "Alfie," Dick groaned, springing to his little brother's bedside. Tim was grey and still. Dick couldn't stop himself from reaching his hand out to touch Tim's face and he shuttered at the heat coming off the boy.

"We don't have a lot of time," Alfred said firmly. "And in the absence of a proper stretcher we will have to carry him on the sheet."

"Right," Dick agreed. "Can you?" but he didn't finish the question. Alfred understood. Dick could easily lift Tim alone, but it would he easier for Tim if he didn't have to endure getting picked up. Alfred did not spend nearly as much time jumping off of things, climbing back up them and then punching people, so his upper body strength was somewhat less than Dick's, and dropping Tim would most certainly kill him.

"I will manage it," he said firmly. "If you will take the side closest to him, I will take the other."

"Got it," Dick answered. He leaned forward and put his hand on Tim's sweaty hair. "Stay still buddy," he whispered. "As still as you can."

"I doubt he can here you," Alfred said.

"Well, I'm going to pretend he can," Dick answered. "On three okay?"Alfred nodded and grabbed his side of the sheet. "One, two, three," and they both pulled and lifted.

Tim rolled a little towards Dick's side but only a few inches. "Got him?" Dick asked.

"Yes," Alfred said through really tight teeth. "Hurry."

Alfred got the distinct impression that Dick was prepared to jump under the sheet and catch Tim out of the air if Alfred dropped his side the entire length of the hall and he was grateful for it. But they made it down two flights of stairs with minimal bouncing.

"I can't believe Bruce doesn't have a proper stretcher," Dick groaned as Leslie took Alfred's side and together they lifted it high enough to lay Tim on to the table. "The man's got a backup plan for his backup plans but not stretcher?"

"Get that sheet out from under him," Leslie ordered him. "Alfred prep. I'm willing to bet he's got septicemia. As long as his insides are all sewn up there's only so much we can do, but his pulse, it's low. If he goes into septic shock, we're going to loose him."

"Of course," Alfred agreed.

Dick lifted Tim up slowly and carefully, piece by piece to pull the sheet out. There was a spattering of blood on it, and it felt wet in his hands, sweat from his brother. He wanted it out of his hands as quickly as possible.

"Timmy, you've got to hold on buddy," Dick said, once he'd got the sheet out from under his head. He was still young, his head still fit in Dick's hand, although not as securely as it once had. Dick knew he was holding it up, not Tim and he was careful as he set it back down.

"Batman needs Robin," Tim mumbled. "Be his Robin."

"You're Robin now," Dick hissed forcibly. "And Robin doesn't let a little thing like blood poisoning take him out, you understand me?"

"Dick?" The name fell from Tim's lips so feebly, so weakly, like he couldn't find the air it took to speak.

"Right here, little brother, right here." Dick wondered how well Tim could see, his eyes were so glazed over and out of focus. In case he couldn't, Dick dropped a hand onto his bare shoulder, the one that wasn't broken.

"I'm scared."

"Don't be," he said with this usually cocky confidence forced into the words.

"Dick move," Leslie said. "We've got work to do."

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked desperately.

"No," she said. "You're just getting in the way."


	5. Chapter 5

**I am so, so, so sorry about how slow this is going. A friend of mine's having a really tough time with life at the moment and while I don't regret a single second of the time I've spent looking out of her, it hasn't been great for my writing time. If anyone has any magical abilities that can make a brave, beautiful, kind girl see how brave and beautiful and kind she is, please throw them my way and I will write for you every single day. Otherwise, this could take quite a while. **

Alfred was vaguely aware of Dick pacing back and forth in the Cave for a few minutes but after about a quarter of an hour everything fell away as he and Leslie worked. He had spent so much time feeling helpless, now that he had something to do, something he was good at, even though he was still very afraid fro Tim, he felt calmer, almost peaceful.

Dick watched, fidgeted and shifted from one foot to the other outside of the medical bay. He'd seen a lot of things that had turned his stomach, but nothing prepared him for the sight of Leslie cutting a hole in his little brother. He turned away and tried to pace. It didn't help. He tried a handstand. That did, if only for a few minutes.

When Tim started to seize Alfred snapped "Hold him!" and Dick leaped over to his bedside and gently pinned him against the bed. Tim felt frail, breakable as he pushed him down, but also too strong to let go of.

"Once it stops, be ready with a shot of epinephrine," Leslie ordered.

"Is this going to stop his heart?" Dick gasped frantically as Tim convulsed sharply and one of his hands glanced lightly off of Dick's face.

"It's possible," Alfred said grimly.

"Tim, listen," Dick whispered. He sounded so desperate Alfred could hardly think. "Tim, this isn't going to stop you, do you understand? You're not going to leave me to take care of Bruce alone, you hear me?"

"All right," Leslie said quickly, as Tim went limp and the machines around them started to beep and whir and flash. "Dick get away from him, Alfred." Alfred raised the needle carefully, a few inches above the boy's chest. "No wait," Leslie said. "He's all right. His heartbeat is regular." Alfred's hands shook and the needle fell through his fingers, to the edge of the bed, then off of that too and roll underneath the counter. "If we can find out which bacterial infection has gotten him and give him the most appropriate antibiotics, keep him hydrated and monitor his vital organs he should be fine in a few weeks."

"I can do that while you identify the bacteria," Alfred suggested and Leslie nodded. Dick couldn't move for a minute, but as Leslie came over she more or less elbowed him out of the way and he stepped back.

For a while he watched the two of them work. Something about the efficiency with which they worked made him think of Batman and Robin, the way he and Bruce could work side by side without even speaking because they both knew exactly what the other one needed. In the back of his mind he started counting the number of times he remembered Alfred and Leslie working together. It wasn't that many, but they acted more like a two hands than they did two people.

"Is he?" Dick asked after a while.

"He'll need constant surveillance for the next few days, but he should be fine," Leslie said. "Now stop bothering us."

Dick sighed. "I'm going to go punch something," he muttered. No one heard him, or if they did, they didn't answer.

Alfred looked up a few hours later to see Dick, still pacing around, in his Nightwing costume. He was filthy, which no doubt explained why he was hanging so far back. God knows what he had been up to all night, Alfred certainly didn't want to. "He's all right," Alfred called. "Go clean up."

"Thanks Alfie," Dick called back quietly and disappeared.

"Honestly how do you live with them?" Leslie asked as she consulted a monitor screen. "His blood pressure is normal and none of his organs failed during the night. There's nothing else we can do, keep him on antibiotics and hydrated and wait for him get stronger."

"I really can't thank you enough," Alfred said as he took off his gloves and threw them in the trash can.

"You can," she insisted. "Take care of these boys. Bruce might mean to take care of them, but we both know that he doesn't do a particularly good job of it." Alfred managed one tired laugh and nodded. "Leave him down here until tonight, then move him back upstairs if you want to. Someone should stay with him all the time, but you look exhausted."

"I'm sure I'm no worse off than you," Alfred said. "Would you sleep here for a few hours?" he suggested. "Richard and I can watch the boy for the morning and then you can check on him before you leave."

"Yes, all right," she agreed. "I'll send Dick back down to you once he's cleaned up so you can get some rest."

"He wasn't slept either," Alfred pointed out.

"He's young, he can handle it," Leslie answered with a playful, if slightly cruel grin on her face. "So can Tim," she added, looking down at the boy, who was resting perfectly still, too still to be really sleeping, but relaxed. "He'll be trying to get himself killed inside three weeks, good as new."

"You have no idea what a comfort that is to me," Alfred said dryly. "Go on then. I've got a few more minutes standing." Leslie shrugged, checked Tim's temperature with her left hand and his pulse with her left. Satisfied or reassured she headed up towards the Manor. "Where do you want me to sleep?" she asked as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Anywhere there's a bed is quite all right with me," he said. "I'm afraid that I've been rather lax about the housework in the last few days."

"You've never been lax a day in your life Alfred," Leslie pointed out. "Maybe you changed your priorities a little over the last few days, but no one would accuse you of laziness. I'm going to sleep."

Alfred nodded and turned his back. The place was a mess and although he knew he was too tired to finish cleaning he had nothing else to do. His eyes ached with tiredness and his ears were buzzing but he still couldn't bring himself to stand still while he waited.

He did stop though, long enough to look down at the boy whose life he had just saved. "Master Timothy," he said softly to the boy, resting his hand on the boy's head. "You must be all right, do you hear me? We couldn't manage without you. We just can't."

Time seemed to pass very strangely, inconsistently. The time he spent scrubbing blood off the counter seemed to move very, very slowly, it felt like hours but the minute he spent watching the steady rising and falling of Tim's chest felt like seconds. He was more tired than he realized, that was the only explanation. Perhaps Doctor Thompkins was right, he was getting too old for this.

"Alfie?" Dick asked quietly, setting his hand on the shorter man's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Tired I suppose," he answered. "But Master Timothy will be all right, so I will be as well. Still, he'll need to be watched for the next few days."

"I'll stay with him," Dick said. "Don't worry. You go sleep."

"Very well. Watch for signs that his breathing has changed." Dick nodded and smiled. "Or discolouration."

"Yup."

"Any vomiting, you let us know right away."

Dick laughed. "Alfred, we'll be all right. This isn't my first day you know."


	6. Chapter 6

When Alfred went down stairs the following morning the first thing he noticed was that Dick was very, very tired. He could tell because the young man was doing a handstand next to Tim's bed and using both of his hands. Alfred felt a smile tugging playful at the corner of her mouth. When considering his family's health in terms of their acrobatic feats it was hard not to.

"Hey," Dick said quietly, flipping himself back onto his feet. "How are you feeling?"

"Quite well thank you," he said. "How was the young master?" Although he addressed the question to Dick he moved closer to the monitors to see for himself, to gently touch the boy, dreading that his skin would be burning and clammy, and feeling a surge of relief when it was warm at worst. His shoulders felt like they dropped a good six inches.

"He didn't wake up," Dick said, looking over at him a little worriedly. "Should he have?"

"No, that's not unexpected ," Alfred said quickly. "In fact, as strong as the boy is I would have been shocked if he had. It's better for him this way, at least for the mean time. Now it's your turn to rest. I'll stay with him."

"Great," Dick agreed with a yawn. "Any idea when we can expect Bruce back?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Alfred said. "I'm sure he'll be back as soon as he can."

"I know," Dick sighed. "He always is. I'll see you in a few hours."

He sauntered away with a little stumble at the bottom step. Alfred almost called him back for a physical examination, because Dick Grayson virtually never tripped but Alfred suspected it was just exhaustion.

Alfred had almost returned the Cave to its usual level of cleanliness when Tim coughed a little. He always worked hard to keep the Cave and the Manor as clean as possible, but now ever piece of dirt felt like a direct threat to his family, to Tim and he could not allow it to survive. "Master Timothy," Alfred called quickly, coming to his side, leaving his broom against the wall and drying his hands. "It's all right."

The boy was barely awake, all he did was open his eyes and smile. Alfred smiled back and stroked Tim's hair until he'd closed them again.

Leslie came down not long afterwards, somehow looking professional, despite having slept in her clothes, and slightly grumpy. "Morning," she said to him politely, moving past him quickly to get to the monitors and to Tim. "Has he woken?" she asked.

"Briefly," Alfred said.

"He'll be all right," Leslie said, after quickly consulting everything and nodding her head approvingly each time. "I've got to go Alfred, I'm terribly late all ready. He'll be fine. I leave him in your very capable hands."

"Not that capable, or I wouldn't have needed you here at all I'm afraid," Alfred said heavily.

"Don't be ridiculous," Leslie snapped. "You know as well as I do that there's no way to guarantee that no bacteria gets into the blood stream when there's any kind of surgery going on. In fact, if it wasn't for you he wouldn't have been alive long enough to get blood poisoning. I'll check in with you tonight."

"Thank you for everything," Alfred said.

"Take care of these boys," she said. "And yourself too, if you can find the time."

As far as afternoons went, Alfred had had much worse, even with guilt quietly chewing away at his stomach. About two in the afternoon Dick came down the stairs into the Cave with a tray of tea, a box of cereal, milk and a few pieces of fruit. "Hey Alfie," he said. "Hungry? Thirsty?"

"I'd give just about anything for a cup of tea," he said, sinking down into a chair.

"Thought so," Dick said with a grin, setting it down perilously close to the computers. If Bruce had been there he wouldn't have let Dick take his hands off that tea pot which seemed unfair since Dick rarely, if ever, broke anything, and Alfred had a magical power of never spilling tea. While Alfred poured a cup Dick made himself a bowl of cereal.

"Has he woken up yet?" Dick asked through a mouthful of milk.

"For a minute," Alfred said. "But he's all right. God knows he on enough morphine that he can't possibly be feeling any pain. There's nothing left for us to do but wait."

"I hate waiting," Dick said with a sigh as Alfred handed him a cup of tea.

"Well, then it's lucky you're usually the one out there, and not in here with me Master Richard," Alfred said with a faint smile.

"I'm sorry Alfie," Dick said. "For every thing we've ever made you wait through."

"Sometimes I wish you'd take pity on me, but the truth is, if you were anything but what you are, I'm not sure I would be any happier than you would be."

"We don't deserve you."

"Perhaps I don't deserve you," Alfred pointed out. He had no intention of burdening the young man with his guilt, but it still hung onto his heart like a draft that he couldn't seem to warm away. Dick took a large bite out of an apple that he'd brought down with him.

"What's going on?" Dick asked. "You okay?"

"Yes, of course," he said. "I suppose I'm just enjoying that brooding habit you and Master Bruce spend so much time practising."

"Hey, let's be fair! I learned from the best, but I do not practice!" Dick exclaimed with a grin. "Are you thinking that there was something you could have done differently? 'Cause I'm sure you and Leslie are right. He's going to be fine. You saved him."

"But if I had been more careful I might have saved him a lot of pain."

"I'm pretty sure we've had that this conversation before actually," Dick said. "Only Bruce was the one hurt, and it was my mistake that didn't get him out in time. You told me something. It sounded pretty profound at the time, something about how doing what we do, we make a choice to accept that we can't be perfect all the time and there will be days when everyone surviving is the victory."

Alfred didn't say anything for a long moment. "It seems highly unfair that you are now using my own words against me," he said at last. "You've grown to be quite the young man Richard," he said. "I'm exceedingly proud of you."

"Well, I'm glad someone is," he said with a grin.

"Master Bruce is too," Alfred assured him. He sighed heavily and then looked over at Tim, who was still lying very, very still.

"Don't suppose you want to tell me what happened here?" Dick asked.

"Not really no," Alfred agreed. Dick shrugged that off and refilled his cup of tea.


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm sorry this took so long. I'm sorry it's not better. Thanks for sticking with it and forgiving me. **

Dick was more than happy to stay in the Cave for most of the day, while Alfred went upstairs to work on some of the cleaning he felt desperately behind on. Alfred was reasonably convinced that Dick was going to spend his time swinging off of things and doing pushups or something equally exhausting but that was quite all right by him.

They had lunch together, then dinner. It had been a long time since the two of them had just sat together, and talked about nothing. Dick told Alfred about the cases he was working, Alfred told him about the comings and going for Bruce and Tim. They reminisced. Alfred asked Dick if he was seeing anyone. Dick reserved the right not to answer that question, then asked Alfred if he was. They discussed a paper Tim had fallen asleep on the week before.

After Alfred had cleaned up the dinner dishes he came down and found Dick standing next to Tim, who was blinking blearily up at him. "You feeling okay?" Dick asked. He swallowed and nodded a little. "Really? 'Cause you kind of look like you've had better days." Tim shrugged a little then croaked weakly. "Yeah," Dick agreed. "Here."

He poured Tim a little glass of water and carefully lifted up his head so he could sip it. "It's okay?" he asked. Tim nodded, just once, shifting his head in Dick's hand and his older brother smiled. "Look Alfred's here too," Dick said, smiling. "Would you like to get moved up to your bed? It' might not be super comfortable but you know, warmer than the Cave."

Tim flailed a hand at Alfred, who smile. "Good evening Master Timothy."

"We\ll take you upstairs, if you want," Dick said. "Apparently you're all better now, just being really lazy. You might as well be lazy up there where you can actually see the sun. I've heard its good for you."

"We don't believe that," Tim murmured.

"That's true," Dick agreed. "But Leslie told us to and you wouldn't want to piss her off would you?" Tim shook his head a little and Dick grinned. "Alfred's just going to disconnect you from everything now and we'll go okay?" Tim nodded sleepily.

Alfred moved around the bed, carefully unplugging and unhooking and double checking everything, just to make sure that he'd be all right one his own, but at last he was finished. There was something like fear crawling around in his stomach as he watched and waited for something to go wrong but nothing happened. Tim continued to breath, Dick continued to watch him with a sympathetic smirk on his face. "There we are then," he said, stopping next to Tim's head and smiling down at him. "Whenever Master Richard is ready, I'm quite sure you are."

"You ready?" Dick asked.

"This's gonna hurt isn't it?" Tim mumbled.

"Not too much," Alfred said.

"I'll be careful," Dick promised as he bent down and carefully lifted the boy's head with one hand and his knees with the other. "You ready for this?"Tim nodded again and shifted his weight a little closer to Dick. Dick knew Tim was trying to make it easier on him, but it looked a lot like snuggling and that was almost too cute for him to manage. He couldn't stop himself from grinning as he straightened up and the boy latched onto him. Alfred smiled too, just a little and stepped out of the way. "Doing okay little brother?" he asked.

"Yup," Tim agreed.

"All right then up we go."

Alfred followed behind Dick faithfully. He was strong, Tim's weight didn't even seem to phase him, didn't take away from his grace, or the delicate way in which he moved. He might as well have been a dancer on a stage.

"You're too big for this Timothy," Dick informed Tim as he leaned into the door to Tim's bedroom to push it open. "Seriously."

"Sorry," Tim croaked with a silly, sleepy grin on his face. "I can walk you know."

"That is a lie," Dick answered with a laugh. "You're lucky you look so pathetic or I'd have made Alfred do it."

"Did I almost die Dick?" Tim asked, the dazed sleepy smile morphed quickly into a serious frown. It looked childlike but earnest, concerned. Dick "shhh"ed him gently. "I thought Bruce would be here if I was dying."

"Then I guess you didn't come that close," Dick answered as he bent down to set Tim on the clean sheets Alfred had put on for him.

"Dick?" Tim asked weakly, snatching at his hand. Dick smiled as Tim's fingers closed around his wrist. He was obviously trying very hard to hold him still, but Dick could have broken his grip without even moving his hand.

"Yeah," he said, pulling the covers up over Tim's chest.

Alfred didn't know what he was agreeing with exactly but the word seemed to completely settle the boy. He nodded a few times before letting go of Dick's arm. As soon as he had his hand back, Dick started covering Tim up gently.

"Alfred?" Tim asked as Dick stepped back. "I'm sorry."

"I can't imagine what for," he said. "But I will accept your apology if you try to rest now."

"Seems fair to me," Dick agreed with a smile. Tim smiled and yawned widely. Both Alfred and Dick had something else to do with their evening, but neither of them were in a particularly big hurry to get on with them.


	8. Chapter 8

**To make up for that last chapter I'll post two chapters today. And I think this one's slightly better too. **

After spending so many years living with the Batman Alfred had developed an uncanny ability to wake up when someone was moving about in his house. He realized something had changed about four and slowly rose from his bed, unable to place exactly what it was that had woken up him. At first he thought something was wrong with Tim and he hurried to the bedroom.

But Tim was asleep in his bed, his vitals stronger than when Leslie had left and Alfred relaxed. Dick was asleep in the chair next to his bed, his head rolling across his chest. He lifted it up sleepily as Alfred tried to shuffle past him. "Alfie?" he mumbled.

"Go back to sleep Master Richard," Alfred said gently, ruffling the young man's already incredibly messy hair. "He is fine."

"Kay," Dick whispered, shutting his blue eyes again. Alfred smiled fondly at him, at both of them and left the room silently.

But if not them, then who had woken him?

Of course there were so few answers to that, Alfred was quite prepared to find the Batman in the Cave when he went down the stairs. "Master Bruce," he said softly into the darkness. There were a few things that were not there the last time he'd been down and a few things moved. Yes, Bruce was back. Alfred smiled to himself.

"Alfred," Bruce answered.

He moved towards the shaky, quiet voice immediately sure that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Bruce was sitting on the floor in sweatpants and an old t-shirt next to the operating table, holding something tightly in his hand. He was pale, he looked haggard and his eyes were kind of glazed over.

"Master Bruce are you alright?" Alfred asked urgently, squatting down in front of him and squinting through the dark for any sign of injury.

"Alfred what happened?" Bruce asked.

"What do you mean?" Alfred frowned. Something was in his hands, Alfred could see Bruce's fingers moving rhythmically over whatever it was. For a moment Alfred didn't know and then he realized what it was. The adrenaline shot he'd almost given to Tim when his heart had slowed down too much. "Master Timothy needed it," he explained. "Despite my best efforts I'm afraid he has septicemic and had a rather close call while you were gone."

"I lost one son tonight," Bruce said in a quiet, raspy voice, almost the way he spoke when he was wearing the cowl. "I thought, I thought maybe I'd lost another."

"He's upstairs resting," Bruce assured him.

"Alone?"

"Of course not Master Bruce," Alfred said reproachfully. "Master Dick is with him."

"Dick's here?" Bruce said, lifting up his head slowly and swallowing. "Was it that close?"

"Master Bruce," Alfred said softly. "Master Richard was ready to drop everything to come back to visit Master Timothy before we even knew what was wrong with him. He is rather devoted to the boy." The dark shadow of a smile that drifted across Bruce's face didn't do much to make Alfred feel better. "You should go up to see them," Alfred said. "They're quite all right but I'm sure they would both be happy to know you are as well."

Bruce nodded and slowly stood up. He moved stiffly and Alfred had to resist the urge to tackle him onto the examination table but obviously that night there were more important things on his mind.

He walked through the house like he wasn't really seeing it all the way up to Tim's room. He stopped at the door and looked in at his sons. Suddenly he felt something in his chest relaxing, like there had been a hand clenched around his heart that was slowly loosening it's grip. These were his sons too, the sons he had chosen, safe, asleep, alive. Dick's legs were sprawled across the floor between the bed and the chair he was sleeping in. One arm was hanging out from under a blanket that Alfred must have tucked him under and the other was holding his head up. Tim was incredibly still, but other than the IV in his arm, he might have been fine.

As soon as he took a step into the room Dick's head snapped up and his blue eyes flicked through the darkness. "Bruce," he said quietly. He stood up quickly, but Bruce could tell by the way he was moving that he was sore. "Are you okay? You look really weird."

"Thanks for coming," he managed to force out of his mouth. No part of him seemed to be working, his tongue felt twisted, his legs were shaking under him and something must have shown on his face because Dick was looking increasingly concerned about him as he came closer.

"It's no problem Bruce," Dick said, frowning and cocking his head. "What's going on?" Bruce shook his head a few inches and Dick nodded slowly, hesitantly. "Did you want to sit with him?" Dick asked.

"Yes." It came out almost like a whisper.

"Okay," Dick agreed and took a few steps towards the door.

"Dick," Bruce called very softly at him.

"Yeah?" he answered, turning back and casting a long shadow from the light in the hallway.

"Will you stay here tonight? Please."

"Sure," he agreed. "Maybe we can talk in the morning?"

"Yeah."

Bruce moved across the room slowly to the chair next to Tim's bed and sank down into it. He wasn't sure what felt heavier, his body or his grief and guilt. Both felt suffocating, exhausting, deadening. He didn't even realize Dick was behind him until he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder.

For a minutes all either of them did was breath. Bruce felt Dick's weight shift away from him, as his son prepared to leave and without him even meaning for it to happen his hand snapped up and rested on top of Dick's. Not for very long but Dick would understand. Dick did understand because before he left he squeezed once, very tightly.


	9. Chapter 9

**So I had planned on finishing up with the last chapter, but then I kind of decided I wanted Bruce and Dick chatting, so it's still going (which may have been a mistake). Sorry. It'll probably be over soon! **

Bruce didn't sleep at all that night. He sat in the chair and watched Tim's chest rising and falling and rising and falling again and every time his lungs expanded he was a little surprised and very relieved. Tim was his son and his son had almost died. The thought shook him, his entire being. He had practiced sitting still for days but now nothing he could do stopped the tremors from his fingers. He was a terrible parent, he'd always known that. Dick, well Dick had been able to convince him otherwise. After all, he'd raised the boy first, when he was younger and less experienced and look how Dick had turned out.

He'd struggled a bit, Bruce hadn't always been the greatest parent to him, there was no denying that but he'd grown up to be smart and strong and in many ways a more completely person than Bruce would ever be. When he looked at Dick it was easy to belief he'd done something right.

But then there was Jason, and there was no way to pretend he'd done anything right with that boy.

Tim, this boy that he'd made as much as he'd made Damian, had almost died and Bruce hadn't even been there to hold his hand. How could he have betrayed the boy as much? He was sleeping so still. Even though Bruce could see perfectly clearly that the Tim was fine, his pallor and the bandages on his arms and chest felt like glaring reminders of his failure. Tim wouldn't even get angry at him, he would understand completely but that wouldn't do anything to relieve his guilt. Nothing would, not really, but if the boy would at least be angry at him it would help. He deserved to suffer.

And Damian, last of all, the son he'd inadvertently fathered and left. And now lost, probably forever. Even though his heart was screaming that he'd just witnessed the death of his child his brain was quietly insisting that Talia would never have gone to the effort of creating the boy for something as trivial as a few days of crime fighting and an attack on Robin.

Even so, that boy might as well be lost forever to him now. Considering the damage Talia had been able to do to him in ten years, there was no telling what she could do in another ten. That would be terrifying, meeting the boy when he was the same age Dick was now. He'd be too old to fight Damian then. Dick would have a better shot at him. Not that he'd let Dick face down a master assassin trained from birth, not even when he was a hundred years old.

He didn't want to fail Dick again. To fail him the way he'd failed Jason and Tim and Damian. His sons.

Tim coughed and Bruce's attention snapped back to his own aching body. Sunbeams were slipping through the gap in the curtains, almost like they were prying they open. It was morning, they'd both survived the night somehow.

The cough didn't wake the boy up. Bruce's hands hovered nervously around Tim's face and chest, waiting for something to happen but he just groaned a little and shifted his shoulders, loosening the blankets. Bruce pulled them back up. His hand just rested there over Tim's heartt, feeling the steady thump. He still had a temperature, but it wasn't dangerously high. He probably didn't even known it.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said quietly from the door. "You should have slept."

"Sorry," Bruce mumbled.

"Well, it's no matter now," Alfred answered. "May I check the boy?"

"Of course," Bruce agreed. "He didn't wake up in the night. Should he have?"

"Everyone is putting a lot of pressure on poor Master Timothy to wake up and assure them he's all right. Really, it's best for him if he rests as much as he can until he's good and ready, not before."

"Sorry," Bruce grumbled again.

"Never mind," Alfred said. "He's fine. I imagine he'll be begging to be out on patrol with you within a week."

"How can you make good news sound so depressing Alfred?"

"I spent too much time with you," he retorted. "What time shall I prepare breakfast for you?"

"I'll eat when Dick does," Bruce answered.

"All right," he agreed. "I'll prepare something about eleven then. Might I suggest that you sleep until then?"

"You can suggest it, if you want," Bruce agreed.

"I see," Alfred said. "Well, if you would like to get a few hours of sleep I will stay with Master Timothy. If you want to talk to Master Richard I think you should consider it."

"Fine."

Bruce stood up slowly, looking down at the boy regretfully. He wanted to do be there when Tim woke up so he could apologize, but maybe Alfred was right. He was so tired he could hardly see straight and it sounded like Tim might be out for a little while.

"As soon as he wakes up," Bruce started.

"I know, I know, I shall come and fetch you immediately," Alfred agreed.


	10. Chapter 10

When Alfred woke Bruce up a few hours later the boy was his first thought. "Tim?" he asked sleepily before he'd even finished lifting his head out of the pillow. There was something brutally unfair about his own bed. Bruce couldn't remember sleeping well for more than a night at a time in his adult life, but he almost felt safe in the Manor and that made sleep very tempting.

"Not yet," Alfred said. "But I'm expecting Master Richard will be up and about shortly, so I'm preparing your breakfast. Would you care to join him?"

Bruce groaned and rolled over, grabbing a pillow and jamming it over his face. He only noticed his scent when he'd been away from the place for a few days.

"That was very much the response I got from Master Richard," Alfred said. "Well, I shall prepare breakfast for both of you anyway and hope that you will be down for it before it gets too cold."

"Fine," Bruce mumbled, knowing full well that Alfred would do no such thing.

Alfred might have left him alone with the warmth of his blankets but almost at once his guilt about Tim and his worry about telling Dick wormed into his mind, started to gnaw at his stomach and sleep didn't feel particularly restful anymore. Regretfully he threw off the blankets and dragged his heavy feet across the bedroom floor towards the shower.

Dick was downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly into his coffee. Bruce smiled a little. Some things never changed, and it brought him a little bit of comfort somehow. Dick had worn the same expression over breakfast his whole life, slightly bemused, slightly stunned under a mass of messy dark hair.

"Morning," Dick said, looking up and smiling. Bruce grunted his answer and dropped down into the chair opposite of him and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Alfred's making eggs and sausages. He keeps popping up to find out if you're here yet."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," Dick said, shrugging it off as he usually did. "I assume you didn't sleep very well. How was your trip? Where ever you were."

Bruce didn't answer. If this bothered Dick he didn't say anything. Then Alfred appeared with food, set it down in his very specific breakfast arrangement and left again without saying anything to either of them. Again, this didn't seem to upset Dick at all but Brice understood what it meant. That he had to say something.

They sat there, looking at each other over a plate heaped with protein rich foods.

"So," Dick said after a few minutes pause. "I guess you're not going to tell me what's going on then?"

"Dick," Bruce started and then found that he didn't have the words to explain things.

"Oh god this is serious," Dick said, shifting in his chair because he could never sit still for more than a few minutes and stabbing at a sausage. "You haven't looked this uncomfortable since you tried to explain sex to me Bruce." Bruce let himself almost smile. "What's going on? We're not having the sex talk again are we?"

Well, it wasn't a great way to start the conversation, but it was more or less right.

"Do you remember Talia?" he asked quietly.

"Oh my god you are," Dick groaned, sitting up and dropping his fork. "Did you sleep with her?" Bruce met his eyes. "You did!" Dick's face was strangely conflicted, like he was torn between confusion or betrayal and giggling.

"Dick, I don't," Bruce sighed. "I didn't mean for it to happen. She drugged me, it was never my intention, I,"

"Hey," Dick interrupted, suddenly serious again. "You don't need to explain Bruce. If anyone's familiar with somewhat less than consensual sex, it's me. Don't worry about it." Bruce nodded, surprisingly grateful for the younger man's lack of judgement. "I'm just waiting for this uncomfortable back story to connect to Tim lying upstairs on an IV drip."

"A few days ago I was in London and Talia showed up," Bruce stumbled over the worlds like he wasn't sure they were the right ones or his tongue was second guessing him. "She had a child with her, a boy. She claimed that he was mine."

"And was he?" Dick asked. For a minute Bruce didn't answer and Dick understood what that meant. "Wow," he said quietly, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his already messy hair. "Okay, so I've got another brother then. Weird, but I'll adjust." Dick grinned for a second but as he looked at Bruce his smiled slipped away from his face. "What's happened?" he asked, curling up again.

"Damian's with Talia," Bruce whispered. "If he survived, he's with her again."

"Bruce," Dick said hesitantly. If Bruce hadn't been so tired he would have found it amusing, watching Dick struggle with his drive to express everything physically. Holding still, not doing something was clearly torturing him. In the end he laid his hand on the table next to Bruce's. "I'm sorry."

"He tried to kill Tim."

"What did she do to him?" Dick hissed angrily. Bruce wasn't sure what he'd been expecting exactly, but Dick's defensiveness hadn't been it. Anger at him, at Damian, yes but anger at Talia, somehow he hadn't thought of that. Not from Dick. Or himself.

"Raised him to be an assassin," Bruce said. "Then she sent him to me. I don't understand her game yet." Dick nodded thoughtfully.

"Well if you need anything," he offered.

"Thank," Bruce answered with a little bit of a grunt. "I should have known better than to trust him, to leave him alone with Tim. Anything Talia's touched has an ulterior motive. I was just so," he broke off and took a deep breath. "He was my son. Is my son, is my son even if I've lost him."

"Hey don't worry about it too much," Dick offered. "If anyone can bring back an angry kid almost on the edge, it's you Bruce." Dick's faith in him was touching, almost heartening but Bruce knew that the boy was lying. He couldn't make it work with Jason, and he had a tenth of the trauma Damian had. No, if any one in his family could ever reach that boy it would probably by Dick, but Bruce would never take that risk. Damian was gone.

"Dick," he said shakily when Alfred stepped into the room quickly.

"Master Timothy is awake sirs."


	11. Chapter 11

**So that's pretty much done then. Thanks so much to everyone who said anything nice about this story. I didn't feel like it ... worked as well as Recovery did but instead of going with my tried and true Give Up Then method I finished it. Because everyone's super nice and supportive. So thanks (again) for that! **

They followed Alfred upstairs as quickly as any of them could, both Bruce and Dick were a little stiff and moving a little slower. Alfred had propped Tim up on a few extra pillows, but he'd shut his eyes. He opened them sluggishly when he heard his family come in.

"Hey," Dick said, grinning at him, leaning against the door frame after Bruce more or less barreled into the room. "You look better." Dick said.

"Not really sure I feel that much better, but thanks," he said wearily. "Thanks for everything."

Dick shrugged it off. Bruce couldn't understand the two of them, how casual they could be. He felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach, seeing his boy like that and there were Dick and Tim, grinning at each other like they'd survived nothing worse than a night of serious drinking.

"How are you feeling?" Bruce asked urgently, taking a few steps closer to the bed.

"Okay," he said, although he was obvious not. "Just kind of tired." He smiled shallowly.

"So you know your name and the date and who's president right?" Dick asked, following Bruce into the room. He had a habit of standing just behind Bruce's shoulders, like a second rank. Bruce must have done that to him somehow.

"I think so," he said. "It's Dick Grayson right?" Dick laughed.

"You're fine," he said with a grin.

"Does this mean you're leaving?" Tim asked kind of weakly and more than a little sadly. Dick's grin shifted quickly to a kind of quiet, affectionate smile.

"Only for a couple days, I promise," Dick said. "I need a bit of help with some gun runners, so I'll be back in a few days to run with Bruce for a night or two anyway and I'll look in on you then okay? I promise."

"Thanks Dick," Tim said pretty quietly.

"Any time kiddo, you know that," Dick said with a smile. "I'll see you in a few days when Bruce and I've got some exciting stories of daring do or whatever."

Then he sauntered out of the room, leaving Bruce standing a few feet away from Tim. The boy's colour was poor and he was already fighting against gravity's steady pull on his eyelids. "Tim," he said, and his voice was surprisingly low, almost Batman like, "Tim I," he started.

But suddenly all those dark thoughts, those fears, that guilt, they couldn't be spoken of in the light of day. They belonged to the darkness, they belonged to Bruce Wayne. They couldn't be said out loud in a well lit room to a child he loved.

"You okay?" Tim mumbled at him sleepily. He grunted and nodded his answer. "Where's Damian?"

"Talia has him, if he survived," Bruce answered.

"He survived. He must have," Tim said. "Bruce I'm not sorry if he doesn't come back for a while."

"You don't have to be," Bruce agreed, smiling a little at the boy. He really was a remarkable child. Had he been missing that, all this time? "Just rest Tim. You need to get your strength back."

"You'll be okay without me for a few days," Tim slurred out. Bruce looked around worriedly,mostly for Alfred, but the painkillers he saw on the bedside table explained Tim's sluggishness.

"It'll be more than a few days," he pointed out. Tim wasn't going to be awake much longer. Bruce closed the space between them. He let his hand hang over Tim's. He was tall enough that it was really only his fingertips that touched the boy's but when they brushed against his hot skin Tim smiled a little and shut his eyes.

"Maybe," he agreed. "Recovery from septicemia is a couple weeks. Normally. Maybe it'll be faster though. Alfred's good you know?"

"He is," Bruce agreed. "Just rest."

"Can't help it," Tim answered. "Alfred's given me something too strong."

"It's probably the right amount of strength," Bruce said gently. "Just go to sleep."

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Yes," Bruce promised fiercely.

A few minutes later Bruce heard Tim's breathing slow, back into the steady, gentle rhythm of sleep. His shoulders relaxed suddenly, dropping a few inches and he frowned. He hadn't even realized they were tense.

The night before Bruce had so many things to say to Tim, but he knew he wouldn't, not now. Maybe silence was better between them. Tim wasn't like Dick, he didn't need to be reassured in the same way, he had other people who told him, if not in so many words, that he was loved. He had Dick. He had Alfred. He would be all right. He would understand what Bruce could never tell him.

Damian, had he ever had anyone look him in the eye, without agenda or fear or anger and tell him he was loved? Would Bruce ever be able to do that, even if he had the chance? He certainly had failed to do that with his boys.

With this boy.

He wasn't going to say anything, but there was no reason he couldn't watch his son sleep for a little while.


End file.
